“He?  Oh! it vas most odd, yet I do not laugh, senorita, I know not vy, but he make me to feel—­vat you calls eet?—­si, de respect; I tink him to be de good man, de gentle.  He was at de ‘Little Yankee’ too.  I vonder vas all good out at de ‘Little Yankee’? Sapristi! he vas such a funny man to talk—­he sputter like de champagne ven it uncorked.  I laugh at him, but I like him just de same, for he act to me like I vas de lady, de ver’ fine lady.  I never forget dat.  You know him, senorita?  So big like a great bear, vis de beautiful red hair like de color of dis dress.  No?  He so nice I just hate to have to fool him, but maybe I get chance to make eet all up some day—­you tink so?  Merciful saints!  Ve are queer, ve vomens!  Eet vas alvays de voman vat does like de vay you do, hey?  Ve vas mooch fools all de time.”

“Yes, we are ‘much fools’; that seems ordained.  Yet there are true, noble men in this world, Mercedes, and blessed is she who can boast of such a friendship.  This Mr. Winston is one, and, perhaps, your stuttering giant may prove another.”  She caught at a straw of hope in thus interesting the girl.  “So he is at the ‘Little Yankee’? and you wish to serve him?  Then listen; he is in danger also if this scheme of revenge carries—­in danger of his life.  Dynamite does not pick out one victim, and permit all others to escape.”

“Dynamite?”

“That was Farnham’s threat, and God knows he is perfectly capable of it.  Now, will you aid me?”

The young Mexican girl stood staring with parted lips.

“Help you how?  Vat you mean?”

“Warn the men of the ‘Little Yankee.’”

The other laughed behind her white teeth, yet with no mirth in the sound.

“Ah, maybe I see, senorita; you try make a fool out me.  No, I not play your game.  You try turn me against Senor Farnham.  I tink you not catch Mercedes so.”

“You do not believe me?”

“Sapristi!  I know not for sure.  Maybe I help, maybe I not.  First I talk vis Senor Farnham, an’ den I know vether you lie, or tell true.  Vatever ees right I do.”

“Then permit me to pass.”

Miss Norvell took a resolute step forward, clasping her skirts closely to keep them from contact with the dusty scenery crowding the narrow passage.  The jealous flame within the black eyes of the Mexican dimmed.

“You can no pass dat vay,” she explained swiftly, touching the other’s sleeve.

“Not through the stage door?”

The other shook her head doggedly.

“Eet is alvay locked, senorita.”

Beth Norvell turned about in dismay, her eyes pleading, her breath quickening.

“You mean we are shut in here for the night?  Is n’t there any way leading out?”

“Oh, si, si,” and Mercedes smiled, waving her hands.  “Zar is vay yonder vare de orchestra goes.  Eet leads to de hall; I show you.”